


Don't Bite the Hand that Breeds You

by GottaGoBuyCheese



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (why can we only find out more at 11? tune in next time if I ever finish any of these wips!!!), ...vaguely, 19th Century India, F/F, Fluff, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Rated G for Generous helpinGs of kulfi, meaning if you spot a typo here after technically publishing this for a second time, please point it out to me and I will a) fix it and b) dropkick this doc into the stratosphere, sharing food is the only love language this author can speak, this is a typo-spying friendly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GottaGoBuyCheese/pseuds/GottaGoBuyCheese
Summary: In which Crowley's impulse control has disappeared to Europe, and, left to her own devices, Earth's resident demon decides to invent the cobra effect.To the surprise of exactly one (1) occult entity, this comes back to bite her. Literally.(Alternatively: Mosquitoes Are Stupid, but Colonists More So (and Crowley Even More So); More at 11)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Don't Bite the Hand that Breeds You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ineffable Wives Zine earlier this year (much _much_ earlier). There are a few typos and words choices I fixed (because I am apparently unable to catch all of these when officially submitting things), but other than those, this is the same as the print version! Be sure to check out the tumblr to see what the other participants have posted; this zine was chock full of talent and a blast to work on!

The air was hot and thick with humidity when Crowley finally stepped out onto the street, carefully balancing a pressed-leaf bowl of miraculously unmelted kulfi in one hand as she swatted away some of Earth’s most detestable inhabitants with her other.

“Go on, shoo! I have nothing for you!” The stupid creations, being that they were insects and therefore did not understand English, Hebrew, Hindi, Tamil, or Snake, paid her no mind. Only once she properly Hissed at them did they flee, but not before one of them left a nicely sized bite on the rim of her left ear. “Oh, for Satan’s — whatever. Idiots.” Whose idea _was_ mosquitoes, anyway? How did _they_ fall into ineffability?

Aziraphale would probably have something to say about it, if she were here. She always did, when it came to the Divine Plan. “Oh, Crowley, don’t you see?” she would sigh in that stubbornly matter-of-fact voice of hers. Crowley could practically _hear_ it, and wrinkled her nose instinctively. “All of God’s creatures have their place on this Earth; there’s no use trying to fight them about it.”

Crowley scoffed aloud, glaring at a suspicious coil of scales resting beside the road. “Just watch me, angel,” she muttered, scowling as the cobra disappeared into a nearby bush. _That’s right, you’d better run. Traitor._ “I could teach ‘em all a lesson if I wanted.”

“And what lesson would that be, my dear?”

Crowley whirled around, flinching so hard she nearly threw the kulfi into the air, but two plump, well-manicured hands caught the bowl before it fully took flight.

“That you shouldn’t sneak up on people when they’re holding food! Aziraphale!! What! The _heaven!_ ”

The angel smiled at her and offered her the bowl back. “It’s good to see you too, Crowley.”

“What are you even doing here?” Crowley asked, accepting it. “I thought you were on assignment in Europe somewhere, ages ago.”

Aziraphale blushed and looked to her feet. Which, come to think of it, were —

“Hang on, are you — when did you get a new corporation?” It was all she could do to not grab the angel by the shoulders and shout a frantic _what happened?!_ Instead, she bit her inner lip, fervently hoping the worry bubbling in her chest wasn’t making itself known on her face.

“Er, yes, well . . .” Aziraphale toed the dirt with one sandaled foot.

“Well?”

“Things, ah, didn’t quite go according to plan?”

“ _Meaning?_ ” Sod pretenses; Crowley took a step forward and clasped her hands around Aziraphale’s arms, staring intently into her eyes. “Aziraphale, what _happened?_ ”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Genuinely nothing!” When Crowley’s grip failed to relax, she sighed in resignation. “Well, if you _must_ know, it had been a rather dull month following that priest around — and let me tell you, he was a right piece of work, I don’t know _what_ head office saw in him, and the sheer _number_ of miracles I needed just to make up for that carrot debacle! I mean, _honestly_ — ehm. Anyway.” Aziraphale glanced at a point over Crowley’s left shoulder, studiously avoiding eye contact. “It had been a long and dreadfully boring month, so I figured I might as well shake things up a bit and have a go at that whole sleeping business, since you always spoke so highly of it.”

“Right,” Crowley said uncertainly. “And this is relevant because . . . ?”

“ _Well,_ ” Aziraphale continued, “I gave it a shot one morning, and the next thing you know, I’m back Upstairs! Without a body! Had to fill out all the forms again and everything. It was alright this time, though; there was some sort of commotion going on among upper management, something about the turn of the century — or was it next century? — and they wanted me out of there rather quickly. I was, of course, _more_ than happy to oblige.” She frowned. “But you’ll forgive me if I have no interest in partaking in _sleeping_ again.”

“Aziraphale, you’re supposed to sleep at _night_.”

“We aren’t meant to sleep at _all_ , Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed. “Just look at what happens! Someone breaks into your host’s place of residence, or-or sets it on fire, I don’t know, or your corporation just _fails_ — and then months of progress, gone! Just like that!”

Crowley winced. “Ouch, that’s never a fun way to go.”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s how I _did_ go, but they were happy enough with the paperwork.”

“Did you stop breathing, by any chance?” Crowley asked. “If you go to sleep for a while and forget to set the breathing on automatic, these corporations die on you.”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Do they really?”

“Yup. Found out a few centuries ago when I tried to take an extra long nap. Downstairs was hardly pleased.”

Dawning realization spilled across the angel’s face as something clicked into place behind her eyes. “Is _that_ why it took you so long to get back in the 15th century?”

Crowley grinned without mirth. “Turns out, we only get credit if we can get humans to commit sins. Literally dying of sloth doesn’t count for anything when it’s just you.”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Oh. Well. That would _never_ pass muster in Heaven, I’m afraid. Fortunately they didn’t seem too keen on the details beyond ‘died in action,’ so I left it somewhere vaguely between ‘break-in’ and ‘arson.’ Which, if anyone asks, is the story.”

“Right,” Crowley snorted, lips twitching upward, “because Heaven is positively _itching_ to ask a demon to corroborate your story.”

“Oh hush, you.” But Aziraphale was smiling at her, cheeks dimpled and eyes glittering with a fond warmth Crowley hadn’t seen in decades. Her heart thudded in her chest, a nervous horse’s gallop against her sternum, and with a start Crowley realized she still had a hold of Aziraphale’s arms.

She stepped back quickly, clearing her throat. “Well. Good to see you, and all that.”

Aziraphale’s smile didn’t dim one iota. “Likewise, my dear girl.”

By unspoken agreement, they abandoned their roadside amble and began heading towards the beach, warm sand soon replacing the rich orange-red dirt underfoot. Aziraphale seemed content to watch their surroundings, taking in the lush greens and pastel sky with unfettered wonder etched into every crease of her face. Crowley, meanwhile, took the opportunity to watch Aziraphale.

She looked . . . different. Not a _bad_ different, not at all, but Crowley had gotten so used to the last corporation she’d almost forgotten it was simply that — a corporation. While the Aziraphale of London had never strayed far from the unassuming creams and pale blues that composed the entirety of her wardrobe, parts of which dated back to before London had even been conceived, the Aziraphale currently beside her was decked in a beautiful sea-green sari, with shining silver accents edging the pallu draped over her shoulder. Golden bangles hung delicately around her dark wrists, and where short, white-blond locks had once sprawled carelessly atop her round head, there now rested an equally messy forest of curls that was more silver than blond. Laugh lines still traced the corners of her eyes and mouth, but now they wore grooves into a deep, sun-warmed brown rather than the pale pinkishness of the northern countries.

Her eyes were the same, though. Still that indescribable storm of color that stole Crowley’s breath whenever they met her own.

“It feels as though it’s been an age since I last saw you. Can you believe we used to go centuries without crossing paths even once?”

“Huh?” Oh, shoot, Aziraphale was still talking. “Oh, yeah,” Crowley said, swallowing. “Can’t imagine what we used to do with all that time. Slept a lot, I’d imagine. Least on my end.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Aziraphale said, shaking her head. “It seems far more trouble than it’s worth.” As if to drive the point home, she folded her legs beneath her and took a seat on the sand, closing her eyes as she breathed in the salty ocean air.

“It’ll get all over your clothes, sitting like that.” But Crowley sprawled carelessly beside her nonetheless.

Aziraphale stared at the sand meaningfully. “No, it won’t,” she said, and Crowley knew it was an Order.

Grinning, she held the bowl of kulfi up to the angel. “Anyway, since you’re here, I got some — oi, no! Shoo! Get _lost,_ you stupid, good-for-nothing —”

“Oh, Crowley, leave them be, won’t you?” Aziraphale sighed. “They’re not doing you any harm.”

“Wh — no harm? _No harm??_ These are _paragons_ of infection, Aziraphale, they’re practically Pestilence’s foot soldiers! Well, wing soldiers. Pro-biscuit soldiers? What’s that mouth sucky thing they’ve all got —”

“Proboscis. And yes, they are, but they can hardly infect _you_ now, can they? You haven’t even got blood they can feed on.”

“I know!” Crowley cried, slapping a hand against her arm as she felt a sharp prick near her elbow. “And yet they still haven’t gotten the memo!” She lifted her hand, but it was too late; already a pale induration the size of a coin was making itself known, raised and tense against her tan skin. The criminal was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, brilliant,” she muttered, rubbing her arm. “ _That_ certainly won’t itch like mad. Bloody stupid insects.”

In a surprising act of mercy, Aziraphale took the bowl from her hand, allowing her to scratch the bite as fiercely as she desired. Or maybe she just wanted a headstart on the kulfi. “Whose idea was mosquitos, anyway?” Aziraphale wondered aloud as she dug a wooden spoon into the frozen treat. “I can’t seem to recall anyone — _mmmph_. Oh, that is positively _divine_. Crowley, you simply must try this.”

“Divine, eh? You sure you’re not trying to poison me?” At Aziraphale’s reproachful stare, she rolled her eyes and accepted the proffered spoon without further protest. “Ooh, is this mango?” she said, taking a bite. “‘S nice. Much better than cardamom, at any rate.”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling the kulfi back toward her chest protectively. “Cardamom is lovely!”

“Is _not_ ,” Crowley said, handing the spoon back. “Tastes like the inside of a tree.”

“How could you — I am _embarrassed_ to know you.”

“Why, thank you,” Crowley grinned. “I try.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Aziraphale muttered darkly.

The next several minutes passed in relative silence — or they would have, had Aziraphale ever learned to enjoy the wonders of human cuisine with any less enthusiasm.

“I must admit,” Aziraphale said at last, dabbing her mouth with a napkin seemingly procured out of nowhere. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here. I thought you were sick of all the colonists mucking about.”

“Oh, no, I am.” Crowley said. “But it’s been a while since I’ve been here. And besides, I wanted to see it for myself.”

“See what?”

“See — oh.” Crowley felt the beginnings of an embarrassed flush rise to her cheeks, and took another spoonful of kulfi to try and mitigate it. “Well, you know, just. In general, I mean. How the humans are getting on and all that. What’s changed since I was here last. _If_ anything’s changed,” she added hastily.

Aziraphale narrowed her eyes, frowning. “What’ve you done this time?”

Crowley frowned with as much innocence as she could muster — which was, to say, not very much. “What makes you think I’ve done something?”

Aziraphale’s frown grew sharper, and she scoffed into a cup of chai, which had _definitely_ not been there a minute ago. “Don’t try that tone with me, you old serpent, I know you. What chaos have you let flourish in your absence?”

“See, that’s the thing, though,” Crowley began rather proudly. “I hardly had to lift a finger this time; the humans took care of that all on their own.”

“Took care of what, pray tell?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, smiling wickedly. “ _Well._ ”

* * *

The bowl of kulfi had refilled itself twice over the course of the demon’s extravagant tale of wile, safety violations, and serendipitous misfortune, and Aziraphale’s subconscious was beginning to tire of the taste of mangoes. Obligingly, the next time it emptied, the bowl refilled itself with a nice, classic malai flavor, and was very pleased with itself when Aziraphale took to it with renewed gusto.

“. . . And so I walk up to this officer, right, and I say, ‘Listen, if they’re giving you so much trouble, why not let the locals take care of them? They know the area, they know the, you know, ecology, or whatever. Give them some kind of incentive, and before you know it, you’ll have more dead cobras than you know what to do with!’”

Aziraphale glanced at her, pursing her lips in amusement. “And? How did that go?”

Crowley smirked. “Exactly as well as you’d expect.”

“Did it?” Aziraphale said, raising a greying eyebrow. “I don’t remember there being quite so many cobras the last time I was here.”

“Hah! There weren’t. As soon as people realized how much profit they could make delivering cobra heads to the officers, they started breeding them on their own, and now there’s more than ever! The Brits have _no_ idea what to do.” Crowley grinned, gazing fondly at the humans strolling along the coastline. “Resourceful little buggers, aren’t they? People, I mean.”

Aziraphale turned as well, watching them with a carefully neutral expression. “Yes, well. I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“You’re allowed to laugh, you know,” Crowley said, nudging her with a pointed elbow. “Just because you’ve got a bookshop back in London now doesn’t mean you can’t laugh at them when they deserve it.”

“I . . . well. Perhaps.” Between the two of them, they finished the last of the kulfi (for real, this time, as the bowl was beyond exhausted), and with a satisfied sigh, Aziraphale turned to her companion, who was leaning back on her elbows and flicking her toes at the tiny crabs scuttling across the sand.

“You never did mention what happened to _your_ old corporation, come to think of it.” Aziraphale said it lightly, making sure to infuse a bit of idle curiosity into her voice, but a knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach. It was one thing knowingly leaving Crowley behind whenever she had to leave for a mission; it was another entirely to come back and find her wearing another face. It was a dread they both shared, any time one of them was called to a mission somewhere the other had no business being.

This time, it seemed plans had gone awry for them both.

Beside her, Crowley’s cheeks glowed with a rosy heat. She looked off to the side, muttering under her breath.

“I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that,” Aziraphale said apologetically, and leaned closer.

Crowley groaned and canted her head. “I got _bit_ , all right? I got bitten by a great bloody cobra because there’s so bloody many of them now.”

“You —” The answer was so unexpected, so relieving, and so dearly, perfectly _Crowley_ , that Aziraphale couldn’t help but toss her head back and laugh, clutching her stomach as tears leaked out the corners of her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right, just laugh it up. Bastard.”

“You — oh, it’s just — Crowley, you — you know what I always say —”

“ _Don’t_ say it, angel, don’t you dare —”

“ — that evil — evil always contains the seeds —”

“ _I swear, if you finish that sentence_ —”

“— of its own destruction!”

“I _hate_ you. You are a smug, insufferable bastard, and you deserve sand in your clothes for the rest of the century.” But even she was chuckling now, however reluctantly, and when they eventually stopped to catch their breath (not that either of them _really_ had to, but it was the done thing. The looks you got after cackling for twenty minutes straight weren’t something either of them cared for at the moment.) they caught each other’s eyes and lapsed into a companionable silence.

“Anyway,” Crowley said after a few moments, “I figured it’d be easier to get around if blended in, you know? Looked unnoticeable.”

“You were going for unnoticeable?” Aziraphale said. She felt her eyebrows climb towards her hairline and assisted them on their journey. “Looking like that?”

Crowley frowned, propping herself up on one elbow as she turned to face Aziraphale. “What? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s — nothing’s _wrong,_ per se,” — _there is_ absolutely _nothing wrong_ — “it’s just . . .” Aziraphale cleared her throat, hoping the heat she felt radiating from her face could be written off as a consequence of the tropical sun shining above them.

Crowley’s garb was surprisingly simple: a deep crimson kurta lined with golden embroidery, paired with a rich black churidar. The matching dupatta was slung carelessly over her shoulders, pooling in the sand alongside her inky hair, which was tinged red with henna. It tumbled down her back in waves as she tilted her head, thick brows furrowing together. Behind the dark lenses perched on her nose, a carryover from their time in London, Aziraphale could make out a hint of gold.

These hints of gold went cross-eyed when a mosquito landed on her nose. Crowley bolted upright, hissing and flailing her arms to be rid of the invader, and the sight of it tugged Aziraphale’s heartstrings with a fondness so fierce it _ached_.

Lord, how she had missed her.

“Well,” Aziraphale continued, shaking her head, “it’s just — that’s hardly what I would call _unnoticeable_.”

“Oh?” Crowley abandoned her crusade and fell back against the sand, smirking as she pushed her glasses up and folded her arms behind her head. “See something you like, angel?”

“As a matter of fact,” Aziraphale said quietly, staring down at her through long lashes. “I do.”

“Because I happen to — wait, what?” Aziraphale’s eyes shifted to Crowley’s nose, then lower. “Angel —” Their foreheads were almost touching now, and she could feel more than see Crowley’s eyes dart frantically between her own. She raised a gentle hand to the demon’s cheek, barely grazing her skin, and felt her shiver beneath the weight of her touch. “Angel, I . . .” She leaned closer, eyes half-shut, and Crowley’s own fluttered closed in response. Her breath caught in her throat as Aziraphale carefully slid her hand along her cheek —

— and smeared it roughly across her mouth.

“Ack — _puh_ — Aziraphale, what the heaven was that for?!”

“You had a bit of kulfi there, just above your lip.” Aziraphale felt immensely pleased with herself as she drew back, polishing off the edge of her thumb. “All better now! You can go back to being unnoticeable.”

Crowley could do nothing but sputter incoherently for the next several seconds, which only served to make Aziraphale beam wider. “Real proud of yourself for that one, are you?” Crowley managed finally, cheeks aflame. “Pride is a _sin_ , you know.”

Aziraphale scrunched her nose in a way she knew sent Crowley’s pulse racing. “Oh, I’m sure She’ll understand.”

**Author's Note:**

> (I think one of my favorite parts of fic writing is opening fifteen different research tabs, downloading three different slideshows ( _and_ a prezi), watching a brief lecture series on youtube, consulting various family members, and then using approximately 0.0001% of that accrued knowledge because these immortal idiots probably wouldn't know the particularities either.)
> 
> Put off publishing this because Certain Obligations had not yet been met, but seeing as this has just been sitting here collecting dust this whole time and those obligations are still slowly (but surely!) chugging away, I figured I might as well toss it out into the world before I forget completely. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, and if you have any kulfi opinions (or other opinions) you would like to share I am ALL EARS!


End file.
